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The Gonzo Journals

January 14th, 2023

Sobriety.

The bane of mankind’s true existence. It goes against everything the Army taught me 25 years ago. Also, my literary icon, the great Hunter S. Thompson, would come alive long enough to flip me the bird. I felt as though I had no other choice though.

I’m hanging out in Little Rock this weekend in a giant house full of wedding participants. Last night, after hours of Nintendo tournaments, I remained the only sober resident. No one attempted to draw dicks on my passed-out forehead, yet I managed to lose every match of Smash Bros. Pitiful. I’m never going back. Drunken Chad is sickening.

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve managed to peck out multiple Gonzo blogs as well as short stories for my 2023 obligations. Something clicked and I’ve rediscovered the joy of writing. The trick? I stopped serving multiple masters.

I believe deep down that most artists get distracted by wanting to master everything that would’ve gotten us laid in the eighties. Yes, that was the only thing we cared about forty years ago. I’ve been laid. It’s nice, but not worth starting a hair band.

The days of being a musician, a film director, and a radio host will have to wait. Not that I don’t love these things, but my heart truly lies in writing. I feel the need to pour everything into something rather than something into everything.

I love guitar, but I should’ve started as a kid. Plus, all those hours of Guitar Hero were counterintuitive to actually playing a real guitar. This is shit they didn’t tell you at GameStop.

Film director? I have a few tiny project ideas but nothing I’ll mention here. The copycat instinct would be too strong to deny and I’ll be goddamn if I’m giving these ideas away for free. Also, the poon pal of indie horror crushed my dreams of directing a documentary film. Hours of footage was wasted because some fuckers can’t keep a promise.

Podcast. Tried it, loved it, no one else did. Years of promoting indie authors who couldn’t care less that I was showcasing their talent. I don’t mind being a guest, but I’ll never waste time again on editing and uploading through half-assed hosting platforms.

Do what you love and love what you do. Don’t start a clothing line, don’t tattoo your bald head, and don’t whore your sanity out on Tik Tok. Write, you fucker. Write.

And write I shall…

Unfortunate for some of you.